


Criminal Law 101 by Stiles Stilinski: How to get away with murder.

by TheBiPenguin



Category: How to Get Away with Murder, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Corruption, Crimes & Criminals, Law, M/M, Murder, Wealth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9806435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBiPenguin/pseuds/TheBiPenguin
Summary: When a tragic series of events finds Cora Hale arrested for murder, her older brother Derek spares no expense making sure she receives the best legal representation available.Stiles Stilinski, acclaimed defender, must uncover the ugly truth behind the wall of wealth and privilege that surrounds the Hale children if he is going to save Cora from a life-sentence. But, should he?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, 
> 
> I don't often post single chapters, but, I'm really not sure how I want this story to progress and I wanted to get some suggestions. 
> 
> I can already see the final scene, I'm just unsure of how to get there (My current plan is going to get seriously ugly with motives for Peter's murder so I'm keen for some alternatives). 
> 
> Thanks, hope you enjoy xxx

The heat of a Californian summer was a thing most people would consider truly bizarre to complain about, but, for Stiles Stilinski it had been a yearly norm since the day he was born and the novelty of beautiful weather had long since given way to the resentful discomfort of having to wear a full suit and tie in what was, quite frankly, tire melting conditions.

Not that he could very well meet clients or colleagues in the baggy-T, Hawaiian shorts and flip-flops of his teenage years. He was now a fully-fledged defence lawyer and appearances had to be maintained.

And so, it was with considerable distain that he pulled on his shoes and descended the overly grand staircase of his new home and workplace to begin his day. Scott and Lydia, his legal aids, were already in the spacious living room, files laid out all over the floor with only a select few on the oaken table, which he assumed were of some significance to whatever case they were working on.

“Morning.” He took his coffee cup from where one of them had left it in its’ usual spot on the table. “Thanks,” he gestured it at them both, not remembering whose day it had been to buy.

“You off out?” Lydia barely spared him a glance up through her long lashes as she skimmed over her selected pile of papers, which as usual sat at least half a foot tall in her lap on the armchair.

He blew out a long suffering sigh at the thought. “Yeah. The Hale case. I’ll bring lunch back, you want Subway?”

Scott made an affirmative noise through the pen held between his teeth, which Lydia didn’t protest. That was about as much thought as Stiles could spare the matter. Pulling his shades down onto his face, which was already far too bronzed by the unrelenting sun for his liking, he strode past the hallway mirror and out into the dry air of the outside world. Shit, he thought as he passed the shiny surface, thank God for fancy clothes and hair products. His skin might make him look like a cheesy-puff but at least he looked like a cheesy-puff that had its’ shit together.

He hurried across the driveway, hastily jamming his keys into the ignition to switch on the less powerful, but, still much appreciated air-conditioning of the car. Despite it being a weekday, the rush hour traffic seemed to have cleared, enabling him to allow his mind to half wander, as he drove, to what he already knew about the case ahead.

His brief had been very…well, brief and the media were all over the story already like heat-rash. The entirety of California must have seen the headlines by now.

Hale siblings kill uncle in alleged inheritance grab.

It was a big story, Stiles had to admit. Even his contacts hadn’t been able to hush it up. The Hales were one of the biggest asset management companies in the US, handling millions upon millions of dollars every year. Talia and Jason Hale had died in a car accident when their children, Cora, Laura and Derek, were still very young and ownership of everything they’d earned, as well as custody of their children, had been transferred to Talia’s brother, the renownedly vicious career politician, Peter Hale.

Peter didn’t know the first thing about business, assets, or children, but, he didn’t need to. He’d simply hired a CEO, nannies for the kids and moved into the Hale mansion to officially be the children’s guardian. Stiles had never been inside the ostentatious building until today, but, he imagined that such a move couldn’t have been much of a hardship.  His life had carried on as though nothing had happened, apart from the fact that he no longer needed a job to finance his exorbitant appetites.

And what a life it had been, pure tabloid fodder. It was small wonder that Peter hadn’t either found himself in his own Ferrari adorned collision site or in a cocaine induced coma. Somehow, he’d lasted fifteen years.

And now, finally, karma seemed to have caught up with him. The deplorable Uncle Peter was found on the patio at the front of the Hale mansion with his brains spread all over the stones. He’d fallen, one way or another, from his second floor bedroom balcony, at ten in the morning without a drop of alcohol or drugs in his body.

It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together and the Hale siblings had all been arrested the same day. Derek and Laura were released without charge, witness statements from the mansion’s staff members couldn’t place them near Peter’s bedroom at the time that he fell, and in fact Laura had been seen sunbathing on the lawn on the opposite side of the house by the gardener.

Cora, on the other hand, had been charged and released on parole, God only knew how much that had cost. One of the cleaning staff had seen her on the landing near Peter’s room within a few minutes of his fall.

And so Stiles had been called. One of the best in the business, Stiles and his team were famous for turning the most high profile and hopeless seeming cases into costly but incredible outcomes. His clients paid extortionately for his results and he revelled in the fact that he was the only person for a hundred miles in every direction who could provide them.

Despite this, he couldn’t help but feel dwarfed as he pulled up to the wrought iron gates of the Hale mansion and pressed the intercom buzzer, yanking his finger away from the sun-soaked metal with a wince.

After lifting his shades for the security camera, he revved aggressively up to the front of the mansion and ditched his car in the large gravelled driveway with deliberate abandon, refusing to give his keys to the staff to move it somewhere tidier as he strode past them, into the shade of the imposing building.

After introducing himself, a little unnecessarily, to the chief butler or whatever the proper title for the pompous little twerp was, he was shown through to a large reception room.

“Mr and Miss Hales will be with you momentarily.”

Stiles shot the plump, older man one final snarky smile as he bowed out of the room to fetch his would-be clients.

This room was every bit as pretentious as the rest of the building, with tightly upholstered leather sofas and large framed paintings of landscapes and vases of flower species he didn’t recognise hung on the papered walls.

Stiles eyed it all with an air of contempt, dropping onto the nearest sofa heavily and unpacking his files and notepad onto the glass coffee table. Before too long, three smartly dressed figures with a handsome family resemblance stepped into the room.

A little reluctantly, Stiles pushed himself back up onto his feet to shake each of their hands.

The girls were almost identical, although one, Laura, was quite clearly nearly a decade her sister’s senior and not half as upset. Laura’s smooth makeup was unblemished while Cora’s eyes were reddened with tears. They wore similar smart-casual outfits, adorned with the little Ralph Lauren label on the breast. Neither smiled, but, Stiles would’ve bet a month’s wages that their combined dental work could have blinded him instantly.

Then, there was Derek.

Derek was a massive presence, filling the room despite being barely two inches taller than Stiles. Unlike most people, Derek seemed to hold himself even more rigidly than Stiles’ own iron spine and his broad frame was adorned with heavy muscles under a close fitting jumper and jeans. His dark stubble and thick eyebrows gave him a dangerous and handsome appearance. Had he had a little less sex appeal, Stiles would have been able to think about how lucky he was that it wasn’t Derek who was standing accused of murder. That wasn’t a face that any jury would ever be convinced was innocent of anything.

It was Derek who approached Stiles first, stepping between him and his sisters protectively to confront the intruder into their home with a firm handshake. Stiles refused to be cowed by the strength conveyed in that brief contact, locking his gaze with Derek’s combatively.

“Mr Hale. Miss Hale.” He greeted curtly as the trio took their seats on the opposing sofa.

Cora’s head hung heavily in front of her, as though she could barely lift her eyes to his. Laura stuck close to her sister’s side as they sat, hovering defensively and casting Stiles suspicious glances.

Derek, on the other hand, leaned forwards over the coffee table towards him, elbows resting on his strong thighs as he stared Stiles down, with minimal real effect. Stiles was a courtroom veteran and, while terrifying, he was adamant that he wasn’t going to let this pretty-boy intimidate him.

“So, Miss Hale.” He had to look over Derek’s shoulder slightly to see Cora where she sat, slumped against the back of her seat. “My name is Stiles Stilinski and your brother has informed me that you’d like to hire me as your legal defence in the trial in which you are charged with the murder of your uncle, Peter Hale. Is that right?”

“You know it is.” Derek’s voice was quite literally a snarl, spat through gritted teeth. Stiles could see the muscles of his jaw working with the tension.

“With respect, Mr Hale. Cora is the one on trial for murder, not you. She’s the one I’ll be working for.”

“She’s 16. She can’t hire you. You need to go through her legal guardian.”

Stiles smiled as patiently as he could bring himself to. “Ordinarily, yes. However, as her legal guardian is the dead-man, your sister is under the care of social services for the moment and her social worker has deigned me fit to represent her if she chooses.”

Derek looked as though he might jump up and drag Stiles from their property by the throat at any moment. They sat with locked gazes as they waited for Cora’s response. When the girl finally spoke, her voice was barely a whimper.

“Can you keep me out of jail?”

“I can.” Stiles’ response was immediate, his eyes abandoning Derek’s hazel stare to seek out her bloodshot one. “If you are completely honest with me and comply with everything I tell you to do, I can make sure you walk away from this without a custodial sentence.”

“That’s a bold statement.” Laura hugged her sister to her as her hopeful eyes darted up, suddenly infused with energy at the prospect of survival.

“It’s an honest statement. Every one of my cases has been won, except in those where my clients withheld information from me which later arose in court or didn’t follow my advice.”

“I spoke with the governor.” Derek actually parted his teeth to speak this time, his voice thick with emotion. “And the mayor. They both said that you’re the best defender they know. What do you plan to do?”

So that was it. It seemed that the Hales had already decided that they were hiring him and wanted to skip straight to the results. Not an unusual response.

“First.” Stiles lifted his notepad into his lap and took up his pen with a conceited flourish. “I want each of you to walk me through what happened to you individually on the night of the alleged murder, minute by minute and in as much detail as possible.

And so he sat impassively and scribbled down the pathetically poor account of the night of Peter Hale’s death as described by the three siblings, needing to prompt for details at an infuriating frequency.

Luckily, they all seemed to match up. That was one problem already solved, not that it made the second any smaller.

According to them, none of them had actually seen Peter fall. The bedroom door was locked, from the inside presumably and none of them were anywhere near. Cora had been on that landing a few minutes before, to bang on the door and tell him to turn the TV volume down, but, hadn’t been able to make herself heard and so had never actually entered the room.

Derek, for his part, claimed to have been in his own room, one floor up but in the same wing of the building, reading and there was nothing to suggest otherwise.

The police’s main case against Cora was that she had been on the landing at the right time and that Peter had A. not been drunk or on drugs and B. hadn’t left a suicide note. Add to that the fact that Peter stilled owned the entirety of the Hale inheritance until all three children turned eighteen and you had the set. Motive, means and opportunity.

It might be largely circumstantial, but, added to the reports of the staff, many of whom had since left their employment, that there was no love lost between the Hale children and their uncle and it was more than enough to convince a jury that Cora had gotten sick of the old bastard and killed him in a fit of teenage rage.

It made for a compelling story and it was the one that the media were running with, which meant it was the one that people would believe.

“Hmmm.” Stiles steadied himself as he prepared for the most unpleasant part of the interview. The two sisters looked drained by their recount, which would help. Derek, however, looked fiercer than ever.

“Okay. This is my assessment. Firstly, the police are completely right that Cora had the motive to kill your uncle, you all did and the opportunity to do so, despite the locked door. God knows how many keys there actually are to that room which haven’t been found. But-“He waved down Derek’s riled protests. “But, they’re fools if they think that you have the physical capacity to shove a full grown, sober man off a balcony without getting your arms and face clawed to pieces in the process.”

The siblings exchanged concerned glances as they listened. “However, a strong young man, such as you.” He turned and gestured to an astounded looking Derek. “Wearing a thick woollen top over his forearms, like the one you’re wearing now, could.”

Derek seemed to go flaccid, deflating as though Stiles’ words had put a pin in him. His mouth worked, but, no sounds came out.

“And.” Stiles ploughed on, “A sober, drug free man with no history of self-harm or depression to be heard of did not just jump from a second floor balcony, especially not landing on his back. You pushed him.”

All three siblings looked aghast, which was just as well because otherwise they probably would have thrown him out by now.

“Luckily.” Stiles sat back, his attack complete. “I couldn’t give a wet donkey’s shit whether you’re guilty or not. I’m not a judge, I’m a defender.” He leaned back against the leather as he observed the expression of the siblings shift from shocked to understanding.

“That’s an interesting stance.” Surprisingly, it was Laura who regained her voice first. “Not exactly moral practice, Mr Stilinski. I’m worried about your ability to focus on our sister’s case. I heard that you and one of your assistants and life-long friends were implicated in the death of a police officer, just six months ago. A rape accusation, wasn’t it?”

Stiles stiffened, a little surprised that she still had the wherewithal to bring the subject up.

“Miss Martin never made any formal accusation against any member of the police department. There was no rape. There was a professional disagreement during a case discussion, which lead to a far less professional altercation. Miss Martin graciously accepted the apologies of the police officer in question and=”

“And he was shot to death within the fortnight.” Derek seemed to have recovered himself enough to join his sister’s counterattack.

“In a shooting by an unidentified perpetrator outside his home when he returned from work one evening, I know.” Stiles supplied, eager to head the line of conversation off as soon as possible.

“A shooting the two of you were suspected of orchestrating.” The tension in Derek’s lean body had returned, his shoulders squared and unyielding.

Stiles blew out the deep exhalation of an adult who is tired of explaining something to a group of insistent children. “Suspected, obviously. It would have been a pretty devastating display of incompetence if the police hadn’t been suspicious. But, neither of us were ever charged.” He stared each of the siblings down in turn, daring them to challenge him.

“So,” he gathered his papers off the polished top of the coffee table and packed them back into his bag. “Either, it was unrelated or,” he shot the trio a conspiring wink. “You’ve just cited your best reason yet for hiring me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we're jumping right to the end of the story (Basically because I have no time to flesh it out and I've already written this scene and really wanna share it). 
> 
> Of course, Cora doesn't go to jail. And it turned out that Peter totally had it coming when Derek threw him off that balcony.
> 
> Please note, the trigger warnings have changed for this chapter, specifically with mention of or allusion to murder, rape/non-con and underage.

Stiles kicked off his shoes, abandoning them in the hallway with his jacket and briefcase and headed straight for the kitchen. He was too drained to cook, instead choosing to raid his cupboard of emergency ready meals and snacks. With a stomach still full of the day’s coffees, he opted for a family sized bag of crisps, sharing be damned, and went to collapse onto the sofa in the living room.

It was Friday night, which meant the TV was crap because everyone with a half reasonable workload was out for the evening to welcome in the weekend. Stiles, on the other hand, quickly lost interest in whatever terrible panel show he’d flicked to and began flipping through the case papers Scott and Lydia had left on the table for the morning.

Hit and run, domestic abuse, robbery. It was all thoroughly depressing and after a few minutes he found himself turning back to the panel show. He was debating just writing off the evening as a loss and heading to bed early when the familiar chime of the doorbell rang through the empty house

Killing the chatter from the TV, Stiles pushed himself up heavily from the plump cushions and dragged his feet over to open the door, too addled to even appreciate that it might have been a good idea to look through the spy hole first.

Derek stood on the doorstep shuffling his feet for a moment before he spoke. His sharply fitted suit had been replaced by a pair of casual jeans and a T-shirt under a leather jacket. He looked a completely different person, more subdued, more at ease even.

“Hey.” He held up a large bottle of Ukrainian honey vodka between them. “I wanted to say thank you, properly and Lydia said this was your favourite.”

Stiles smiled a little at that, stepping aside to show Derek in. “Thanks.”

He grabbed two tumblers from the kitchen and poured them each a drink as they settled back onto the sofa, supressing a smirk at Derek’s wince as he took his first sip. Stiles held the spirit on his tongue for a moment before swallowing it smoothly down.

“It’s delicious, thanks.” Derek gave an affirmative grunt, but, put his glass back down on the table without attempting any more. “Shouldn’t you be with Cora?”

“Laura’s got her.”

Derek seemed determined to look everywhere except Stiles’ face, his eyes darting all over the room as though seeking a safe spot to hide in. When he didn’t speak any further, Stiles refilled his already emptied glass, feeling the hot liquid soaking through his empty stomach, before he pressed further.

“Are you okay?”

Derek’s whole body seemed to deflate as he laid back against the cushions, turning his head heavily where it rested against the soft fabric to meet Stiles’ gaze. He looked melancholic, but, from what Stiles had seen, Derek’s default setting was murderous rage, literally, so he had no idea.

“Are you?”

“I’m fine.” Stiles took another long drag, savouring the sweet taste and delicious burn. “Exhausted, but, hey.” He shrugged, “What you gonna do?”

Derek didn’t respond, gazing a little off to Stiles’ left to avoid his eyes. “I’m just finding it really hard to process it all. I don’t know how I’m gonna live with what we did?”

Stiles sighed, rolling his heavy eyes. “What have we done? Kept a teenage girl from getting abused and stopped her from serving a life-sentence for the privilege. You need to let it go, man.”

Now that the subject had been broached, Derek seemed to open up, like a river bank bursting after the spring rains. His eyes watered and Stiles even thought his voice wobbled for a second. “And I’d do it again, to protect Cora, but, it’s not okay that I don’t have to face up to what I’ve done.” He cast a suspicious glance around the room and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper, seemingly afraid of being overheard.  “I killed someone. And we covered it up.”

Stiles outright laughed at that one, draining his glass and reaching for the bottle, again, hardly aware of Derek nervously watching the fluid level fall. “I cover things up all the time, that’s my job! What, you think your uncle’s suicide note, in what professionals deemed was _**almost** _ certainly your uncle’s handwriting, just happened to show up just two days before the trial?”

Derek’s brow furrowed as he leaned forwards, right into Stiles’ space. “How--how did you do that?”

“I have a lot of friends.” He patted Derek’s face affectionately, stroking a soft thumb pad over his stubbled cheek. “Friends with guns who like to get paid to shoot rapist cops, friends who are forensic handwriting analysts. And I have a pile of cash. I mean, it’s not as if I really need to charge my clients $500 an hour when I only employ two legal aids and I live where we work, which is in Beacon Hills, the town with the lowest property prices in the state of California.”

Stiles took another taste of the sweet smelling gift Derek had bought him, dully aware of his head beginning to swim, not that he minded. All things aside, he quite liked Derek. Trusted him, almost. He was too sleep deprived and intoxicated to really analyse the situation, if he was being honest.

Derek looked as though Stiles had just handed him a puppy that spat rainbows when it barked, perfect white teeth peeping out between smiling lips “I can’t believe you’d do that for her.”

Stiles shrugged. “I wouldn’t normally. But, I like you. You’re fierce and protective and kind and I admire that in a person. That’s the difference between you and me. I limit the number of people I care about to like four.” He pushed himself up to his feet, less steady this time, pulling the now mute Derek with him. “And if you want a place on that list, then right now you need to fuck off and let me sleep.”

Gently, he guided Derek by the arm and showed him out, squeezing his bicep as they parted. “And I don’t suppose I need to tell you to keep your goddamn honest-ass mouth shut about this and go enjoy the life I just bought you, starting with ringing me tomorrow to ask me out properly.” He winked and Derek nodded almost imperceptibly, still staring up into the house at him across the threshold as Stiles closed the door and stumbled up to bed.


End file.
